


Stay

by LadyRo



Series: Tales from the Fourth Age (chronological) [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6715945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRo/pseuds/LadyRo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some stories of their time in the Houses of Healing they did not tell the Ringbearer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

_Súlimë 24, Third Age 3019_

Some stories about their time in the Houses of Healing they did not tell the Ringbearer for his book.

-*-

As darkness fell and the sundown bells rang on the sixth evening after Aragorn and the Host of the West set off on the last march to the Black Gate of Mordor, a healer knocked on the door to Faramir's chamber in the Houses of Healing and, upon recognition, entered.

“Lord Faramir, I am sorry to call on you, but Lady Éowyn asks that you come speak with her. I cautioned her that it was too late an hour to begin one of the long talks you and she often share; nonetheless, she was insistent.”

Faramir nodded and set the empty cup he held on its saucer atop the small stand next to his bed. “I will go to her,” he replied. “Doubtless the dread and foreboding that have hung over the city for the last several days are working on her as well.”

The healer frowned and advised him once more about the time, then left. Though he was dressed in long nightclothes to ward off the chill of the early spring air, Faramir also wrapped a dressing robe around himself as he prepared for the walk through the houses, wincing as the wound in his chest from the Southron arrow protested the movement. 

Meanwhile, Éowyn lay in bed with the coverlet drawn high over her. As afternoon faded into evening, a coldness had fallen upon her so strongly that she questioned whether she would ever be warm again. She had even stayed indoors instead of going out to the wall with the swiftly recovering lord of Gondor to gaze northward in the dwindling light, searching for some indication of how the host fared. Now her broken left arm ached in its sling, but with her right hand she clenched and unclenched the sheets. A knock on the door startled her even though she had been expecting to hear it. She bade the visitor to enter and felt a newly familiar sense of relief when she saw the tall, raven-haired figure step through the doorway and into the candlelight.

“You sent for me, Éowyn? I should warn you: The healers are politely adamant that our conversation be brief,” Faramir said. “They would rather we rest after nightfall instead of talk.” He noted the low-backed chair at her bedside and took the seat.

“Forgive me, lord, for disturbing you, but a great unease harries me,” Éowyn said. Suddenly, a flush of pink appeared in her pale cheeks. “Please, if you would, stay with me until I am asleep. My heart is troubled, and I do not wish to be alone.”

A smile played at his lips, and for a moment she felt ashamed and wondered whether he thought her a foolish child afraid of the dark. Then he reached across the coverlet, took her right hand in his and rubbed it slowly with his thumb.

“Very well,” he said, the tenderness in his voice matching the look in his eyes. “I will stay. Until you sleep, let me describe to you the beauty of the Pelennor and Mindolluin in full summer. I know not whether that season will return so you can see them in their splendor.”

He told her of long, green grass and carpets of clover dotted with white and purple flowers; fields of golden wheat and barley; orchards laden with cherries, apricots and pears; and small, merry brooks that flowed from the highlands into the Anduin or ended their journey before then in quiet pools that were home to frogs, newts and turtles. And above all this loomed Mindolluin shining purple and blue in the sun with an ever-snowy cap. Herds of brown cows and white sheep grazed their fill on the gentle lower slopes before being driven down to the Pelennor for the autumn markets. At higher levels, wild goats with long, curved horns balanced on precarious rocky ledges as they traversed the mountain.

After a time Éowyn realized he had become silent, and she tried to stir from her deep relaxation enough to open her eyes but failed. Then she felt lips touch hers, warm and gentle. On Faramir's breath she could smell the same chamomile tea that the healers had urged her to drink as they helped her prepare for bed. “Peaceful dreams, _melda_ ,” he told her for the first time as sleep closed in around her.

An hour later, a healer roused the Warden of the houses with a complaint. “Sir, it is improper, and these are not the houses of such repute.”

The Warden considered the matter and the persons involved, then shook his head and waved his hand in dismissal. “While the conditions of both have improved greatly since they were first brought here, neither one of them has the strength yet for _impropriety_ ,” he said. “May their hearts be gladdened upon awakening.”

While a cold wind out of the north sprang up, the night passed. The gray light of dawn seeped into the room and woke Éowyn. Her hale arm was tucked under the coverlet instead of stretched across it from when Faramir had held her hand, and he no longer sat at the bedside. She felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment despite knowing that he had been released from his obligation once she slept. In her mind she resolved to thank him for his graciousness when she saw him in the garden later this day.

Suddenly she became aware of soft breathing nearby, and she turned her head to the right. Her eyes widened in surprise and wonder. There he lay sleeping on his injured side so he could fit on the narrow bed without disturbing her, yet still facing her. Someone had tucked a blanket around him during the night.

He had stayed.

-*-

They did not tell the Ringbearer when he later sought an account of their healing. He did not need to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Canon is based on what Frodo Baggins was _told_.


End file.
